


Paradise City

by Anonymous



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Card Counting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16923780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: By night the mythical Heartland City is a sea of glittering glass towers and neon signs, corrals of nightlife establishments that line both sides of the river winding through the city center. Inside, upbeat music shakes the plush-carpeted floor, the rhythm of the count like the sound of drums in Yuuya’s head, nine eleven ten ten eleven ten nine. Across the ocean of faces, Serena at the table in five-inch heels and a red dress; she passes the signal, three fingers through perfumed hair.Sakaki Yuuya joins Reiji's card counting team.





	Paradise City

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off the movie 21 (and its source book Bringing Down The House). Yes the title is a riff off the dub.
> 
> Card counting: keeping track of which cards are left in a deck to get an advantage, usually in blackjack.

 

Sakaki Yuuya works alternate Thursday nights at the Entermate, second show of a four-part act. On work days after evening chemistry lab he throws his school things in his locker, swaps Maiami University's campus for the shopping street just across the road. Down four blocks and and two across to the pub called the Entermate, the rectangular sign outside flashing its name in neon-tube letters alternating red-blue-red-green. Swaps calc first principles for his performer’s instinct, his colourful layers of clothes for the black and white of a stage magician’s vest and tailcoat steam-pressed in the dressing room before the show.

Now he sits beneath the low pale lights at a front row table near the Entermate’s stage with his chin propped on one hand, spin cutting half a deck of cards over and over in the other to the low beat of the music in the next seating area over. Shingo’s comedy routine is on form tonight, perfect timing, great audience. It’s not quite full house, but the people want to have a good time and Yuuya lets himself drift amidst the echo of Shingo’s voice over the speakers, the periodic laughter of the crowd.

Shingo finishes his routine to a round of cheers and applause, calls for volunteers for Yuuya’s act as he steps off the stage. He picks someone from a table off to the side and Yuuya looks the person over as he makes his way to the stairs stage left: it’s a guy, cream cable-knit sweater over a button-down, dark pants and off-white shoes, the stage lights glinting off his red-rimmed glasses. It’s those glasses Yuuya recognizes him by; that’s Akaba Reiji, Yuuya’s nemesis in Statistical Methods class.

Just Yuuya’s luck that Shingo picked him tonight.

Yuuya haphazardly shoves down the rush of antagonism that wells up in him. Puts his game face on and runs up the stage stairs two at a time, shoes tap-tap-tapping the floor to the beat of the music pumping overhead as the lights strobe over the stage to announce him. Positions himself and Akaba behind the table with the green velvet tablecloth, fans the deck in his hand and gets the guy to pick a card, any card. Show it to the audience, the whole nine yards.

Yuuya has platform shoes on but Akaba still has two inches on him, easy.

Akaba drops the card back on top of the rest; Yuuya false shuffles a couple times, controlling it to the bottom of the deck, then holds it back out. The clip-on mic amplifies his voice through the room. “Reiji. Would you cut the cards for me, please?”

Akaba Reiji takes the deck, cuts it, then riffles the two halves together in his hands. Then he does it again. And again. Yuuya’s smile grows forced; he’d said very clearly just to cut it and Akaba Reiji handles a deck like a fucking pro but _can’t he follow directions?_

The timing is ruined, the silence rapidly growing uncomfortable. In exasperation Yuuya turns to face his audience. “I’m afraid this gentleman here is having a little difficulty. Magic is so very precise, and it is hard to get it right. But the wrong spell word, the wrong gesture, and you find yourself with a toad instead of a piece of gold…”

God, the bastard has nice hands.

“Mr. Sakaki?” Akaba offers quietly. He’s stopped shuffling and now he holds the deck back out to Yuuya, leaning forward to whisper into Yuuya’s ear, and Yuuya thinks about printer toner and cologne. “Might you continue? I think you’ll find I have a little magic of my own.”

 _There are no secrets on the stage_ Yuuya thinks but Akaba doesn’t have a mic and Yuuya’s own clip-on is facing the other way, so Yuuya is the only one who could have heard him.

As if moving in a dream Yuuya fans the cards out over the velvet tablecloth. Finds his key card - ace of hearts - then pulls out the card next to it. “Jack of spades,” Yuuya breathes, the echoed whisper artificially amplified through the room. He angles the card so the glossy face catches the light, tosses it back onto the fan face up. Below, the crowd bursts into a smattering of applause. From the side several people cheer, including Shingo.

“That’s the one,” Akaba whispers.

Something bubbles up within Yuuya, filling his chest like a balloon. Almost rage but not quite, and he dives into it headfirst; he can improvise this. “When I was a child,” he begins, “my father taught me a few things about cartomancy, the art of card reading. Since Reiji here so kindly helped me with my act, I’ll even do it for free.” Yuuya slides his hand over the fan again, palm coming to rest over the face card from before. “You picked the Jack of Spades… I see a young man in a powerful position. The world at his feet.” Yuuya turns slightly to face Akaba, claps one hand over his clip-on like he’s straightening his collar. Whispers so only Akaba can hear, “But when you’re on high, there’s so far to fall. One misstep and he loses it all.”

Beneath the stage the crowd is murmuring amidst another smattering of applause. Yuuya thanks Akaba and invites him back downstage, and as he continues his routine, he is still thinking about it.

In a random deck ordering finding two specific cards together is infinitesimal, but Akaba Reiji had managed it. Could be luck. Could be skill. Eight perfect faro shuffles restore the deck to its original order and Yuuya doesn’t think Akaba Reiji does anything by halves.

Tonight the stage lights seem to glare off the card faces so brightly, Yuuya can hardly see them.

 

 

Later, Yuuya takes his bow and cedes the stage to Yuzu, whispers ‘break a leg’ as he passes her between the cheap curtains in the wings. She flashes him a radiant smile before stepping out onto the stage, wireless mic gripped tightly in one hand. _God she’s beautiful_ , Yuuya thinks, is still thinking it as he crashes into Akaba Reiji. Printer toner and cologne, unmistakeable, even though there isn’t enough light here for Yuuya to see him.

Yuuya stumbles back, only realizes he’s thrown a punch when Akaba catches his fist. _Damn quick,_ Yuuya thinks as pain shoots through his wrist. “What the hell was that back there? Were you a plant? Did you pay Shingo to pick you—”

“Wanted your attention,” Akaba replies, ignoring the rest

 _You’ve got some nerve._ Yuuya yanks his hand back, passes his other thumb over the inside of his wrist. Doesn’t hurt, but it’s dark in here and the low light filtering in here from the stage isn’t enough to see if there’s bruising. “Alright, you got it. What do you want?”

“You,” Akaba says, his presence steady and towering in the dark. Yuuya’s heart skips two beats then rushes to catch up as Akaba adds, “I mean, I have a job offer for you.” He pauses. “Ever thought of getting disgustingly rich?”

“All the time, Akaba, all the goddamn time. But my father was a snake oil salesman, Akaba, so if you’re selling me something you’d better have one hell of a pitch.” Leaves a bad taste in Yuuya's mouth to mention the man, but it makes the point.

“Say I do,” Akaba says, and hands Yuuya a card—a playing card—the ace of hearts from Yuuya’s deck. He recognizes the back.  _When had Akaba palmed it?_ Across the top in blue ballpoint is written a place and a date and a time. Narrow slanting writing that screams penmanship classes. “Think about it. Talent like yours is wasted in a place like this.”

Yuuya bites back _You have given me a lot to think about tonight_ as the man’s silhouette turns and disappears into the long corridor behind the stage.

 

 

Yuzu asks, “What did that guy want with you?”

“He offered me a job,” Yuuya replies, sets his glass down and and steals a sip from hers. He’s the only one among them not of age and as long as Tsukikage is behind the bar Yuuya will never be allowed to forget it. A green top hat lies upside down on the table and Yuuya leans across the table to peek. It’s empty.

The night’s entertainment is over, the bar closed and the patrons cleared out. 1:30 a.m  is cleanup time and all the lights in the Entermate’s hall are turned on high, harsh white fluorescence illuminating the scuffs on the tables and the paint peeling from the walls. Tsukikage clears glasses and wipes down tables and puts chairs up, neatly weaving around the six-seater where the performers are.

To Yuuya’s right, Hiiragi Yuzu is watching him intently. She’s leaning slightly forward, the hem of her floor-length satin dress lightly sweeping the ground beneath the table. Her hair is coming loose of its updo, her makeup mostly wiped clean but her lips are still smudged dark red, a stray streak of teal eyeshadow on the side of her face.  Yuuya thinks she is the most beautiful girl in the world. “Going to take it?”

“Nope. Probably an intro calc grading gig dressed up as a TA stint or something just as terrible. Also, I don’t like him.”

He and Akaba don’t have a rivalry, not really. It’s just that Akaba is a legacy and old money and Yuuya is a first-generation nobody, so landing top grades in Statistical Methods at the midterm with five points of extra credit to Akaba’s four has got to be some kind of social statement—

“—it’s a rivalry,” Shingo says. Statement, not question, and Yuuya shrugs; shit-eating grin or not, he’s right.

From across the table Dennis reaches out and picks up the top hat by the brim, deposits it on his own head and says, “No harm in hearing him out.” His legs are crossed, feet resting on the side of the table, contact-coloured eyes intent. That’s what tips Yuuya over the brink.

Most of the time Dennis is a great guy. Reliable, unflappable under pressure, the best method actor Yuuya knows. But sometimes—sometimes, when things get personal, Dennis drops the nice guy act. Yuuya isn’t offended at the subterfuge; entertainers know their own. The thing is that Dennis is doing it now, with this job offer from Akaba Reiji, and that makes Yuuya curious because Dennis does not get _personally invested_ in things like grading math papers.

“Nah,” is all Yuuya says out loud, shaking his head with a dismissive laugh. Two can play this game.

 

 

That night, Yuuya doesn’t sleep. He twists a pair of elastic bands around his fingers and stares at the ceiling. Thinks about rich guy Shingo running away from home to slum it up in a college town trying to make it in standup comedy, about Yuzu crooning tragic love songs to a guy she admits doesn’t exist. The ace of hearts with Akaba’s writing on it is still in his waist pouch next to his deck of playing cards.

Yuuya had not had a proper conversation with the guy before tonight, but a lot of observation gets done in boring lectures when your nemesis sits in the same spot every time. He has a habit of pushing up his glasses to stall for time; his hair always sticks up in the back like he’s clean forgotten to brush it. Owns ankle socks or else doesn’t wear socks at all. He’s one of maybe four people in the class who can reason an iterated prisoner’s dilemma problem off the top of his head from start to finish and on that alone, Yuuya trusts him. Still doesn’t _like_ him, but they are similar in a certain way of thinking which means that on some level, they can understand each other.

And to have pulled that shit at Yuuya's show, to have given Yuuya this card—Akaba must know it, too.

Symmetry.

Akaba always wears that long red scarf, wound once around his neck with the ends draped over his shoulders. One day, Yuuya wants to catch his fingers in the fabric and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Wants to drag Akaba Reiji down to Yuuya’s level and kiss him until he loses that maddening composure, until he forgets how to add two and two.

_“What do you want?”_

_“You,” Reiji says,_ and this time he doesn’t go on to say “I mean” something else _._

Yuuya opens his eyes. He had fallen asleep without noticing and now pre-dawn light of Friday morning is filtering in through the dorm room’s cracked blinds, stripes of shadows alternating pale and dark over the shape of his roommmate Gongenzaka beneath his blanket, still fast asleep in the other bed.

 

 

 


End file.
